Long Way Home
by Remnant Stars
Summary: AU. Abigail dies before John Marston travels to Armadillo, changing his interactions with Bonnie MacFarlane. An exploration of the game with complete emphasis on the growing relationship between John and Bonnie. Major plot changes.
1. Chapter 1

**I've been replaying RDR and I'd forgotten how great a game it actually is, and how much I love John and Bonnie as a pairing. This plot bunny popped into my head when playing so I figured I'd see where it goes...**

**I don't anything but a copy of the game and my own imagination...**

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Redemption was something that John had never hoped to find. Not for the sins of his past, or the misdeeds he was about to execute. He was still numb to Abigail's death, her loss entirely his fault. He still had not dealt with his grief, just the reminder of the circumstances threat enough for him to drown himself in guilt and despair. She'd been his anchor, the only person besides Jack who had kept him together. And she was gone.

He shoved the thought of Abigail far from his mind, melancholy a heavy burden on his shoulders. He forced himself to think of Jack, at home under guard while he did Edgar Ross' dirty work. Abigail was gone, but Jack was barely fifteen and he needed his father, despite their frequent disagreements. John could hold the pieces of himself together for Jack. He was all he had left.

He'd been escorted to the train by Edgar Ross and his lackey Archer Fordham, the former making it explicitly clear that if he did not do what he asked, Jack's life was forfeit. John had several bitter responses on the tip of his tongue but he kept his mouth shut and got on the train. The train compartment was nearly full, John taking one of only two empty seats, sliding to the window and staring out sightlessly as he listened idly to the conversation around him.

John could never claim to be a good man, though he was certain which side he fell on in the dividing line between right and wrong. The conversations surrounding him made him appear virtuous by comparison, and coming from the 'civilized' people of the west. A preacher that he hoped no one but the naive young woman actually paid any attention to. And two old women whose conversation actually disgusted him with how ignorant it was. A woman moved from a seat somewhere behind him to the other empty seat in front of him. He took notice of her youthful appearance, the pretty features of her face and her blonde hair with keen eyes, a habit of observing people he hadn't been able to break. Of course, he'd never allowed himself to think of any woman as pretty besides Abigail in the fifteen years of their marriage. He turned his attention to the passing landscape outside his window, shutting down any thoughts of the woman and concentrating on Bill Williamson, the man he'd come to Armadillo to hopefully capture, but likely kill.

Bill had only been a pawn when John was part of Dutch's gang. A loudmouthed idiot who had cruel tendencies that even John found disturbing. Still, he'd been a sort of friend once under Dutch's rule and John would regret killing him. John had been directed to head to the saloon in Armadillo when he arrived and meet a man named Jake, who would lead him to Bill Williamson. He noted the woman with blonde hair being picked up by an older man in a wagon who she greeted warmly. Her father maybe? Or even her husband. It was a common enough practice for older widowers to marry woman young enough to be their daughter. He hoped not, for her sake. He shook his head once to clear it, a ball of guilt and shame weighing heavy in his gut. Whatever the woman's situation, it was no matter to John.

Jake was a talker, asking more questions than John was willing to answer. His replies were short and to the point, something that had never really changed in his life. He'd never been fond of idle chitchat, silence something he'd appreciated, though had less of than he'd liked sharing a life with Abigail. When Jake left him, cackling gleefully, John considered abandoning the entire thing. Fort Mercer was well fortified and he had no hope of actually compelling Bill to leave with him. But Jack was expecting his return.

It ended as well as he'd supposed, with a gunshot below his ribs and left to die. He crawled back towards the road, his only remaining thought was to return to Jack. He remembered falling unconscious with Jack's face in his mind, the boy's tears fresh on his face.

_Sorry, Jack._

**Just a brief prologue to introduce the story. I'll post the next chapter soon...Please let me know what you thought.**

**Just a warning. This story is possibly going to be very fluffy in the future. I can't help myself with these two. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: This story will follow the events of the game pretty closely up until a certain point. Because of this, much of the dialogue between John and Bonnie in the following couple chapters is borrowed heavily from the game itself. **

**Once again, I don't own anything.**

**Thank you to the guest reviewers for their kind words. I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

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Bonnie hated visits to her brother. New York was supposedly more civilized than Armadillo. She felt like every person she encountered in the place was as slippery as a snake, with their fake smiles and ulterior motives. And her brother fit right in with the place, his smile as cold as the limp handshake he greeted her with. He could care less about her, she knew. But he was her father's lawyer, handling his entire estate. Bonnie didn't agree with her father's decision, but Drew still loved his son despite their differences in outlook. And he trusted him marginally more than he did any of the other lawyers he'd ever met.

The visit left a sour taste in her mouth and she was thankful to start the final leg of her journey and get on the train back to Armadillo. She sat by the window, thinking she might take a nap on the way back home. The idea was nixed when a man sat beside her. He seemed friendly enough, but Bonnie was not in the mood to talk. The conversations surrounding her were disturbing her piece of mind, angering her with how so small minded people were. Finally, she excused herself from the man's side and moved closer to the front of the compartment, hoping to gain peace from the two old woman's grating voices. She found she could still hear them perfectly fine, but at least she was free to be alone in her own thoughts without interruption.

When she left the train, Amos was waiting for her with their wagon. She smiled happily, inordinately pleased to see the stoic ranch hand. He seemed puzzled at her enthusiasm, arching a brow in question.

"I hate New York and Blackwater is no better," she explained. "You don't know how good it is to be home." Amos nodded, but his sharp eyes were directed behind her.

She glanced towards the saloon, seeing the retreating figure of a man from the train. She'd noticed when passing his seat that he was a handsome man, if a little rough around the edges. Amos' eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

"Do you know him, Amos?"

Amos shook his head. "No, miss, but I hope I never do. Seems like an untrustworthy sort of fellow."

Bonnie laughed at his easy judgment. "Amos, you don't even know the man. For all you know, he's a lawyer playing dress-up."

"Not with those scars he ain't," Amos argued. "And you see the way he held his hand near his gun? A gunslinger no doubt." Amos nodded his head once vehemently and turned to the wagon, dismissing the man.

Bonnie smiled in amusement but her interest was piqued. Gunslinger or not (the idea was ludicrous, there were no longer any true gunslingers in the west), Amos had pointed the man out as worthy of concern. He was an observant man, his judgment usually close to spot on. It was why he was the lead ranch hand, her father trusting him with much of the responsibilities he or Bonnie couldn't handle on their own. She glanced after the man, wondering where he was going.

If Bonnie had one major fault, it was curiosity. The question of the man's purpose in Armadillo settled in her mind and niggled at her through their errands in Armadillo. Bonnie could have easily hired a coach back to the ranch but they needed supplies so Amos had been hitting two birds with one stone. They stopped at the gunsmith, looking for any improvements in weapons. Afterward, it was to the general store for a few items the ranch's store did not carry.

Bonnie could see that Amos was eyeing the saloon with longing and took the opportunity presented.

"Amos, I need to head to the seamstress for some feminine items I ordered. Why don't you head to the saloon and have a drink? I'll return to pick you up in half an hour."

At the mention of 'feminine items' Amos was off to the saloon with a red face. Bonnie snickered, feeling no regret at embarrassing the poor man. Amos was usually quiet and had little to say but when you got a drink or two in him he couldn't seem to help but repeat the gossip he heard in the saloons. Bonnie was counting on it. She didn't really need anything from the seamstress, hating the impractical fashions of the day and choosing to stitch her own clothing, but she stopped by anyway. The woman who ran the place looked down her nose at Bonnie the entire time she browsed idly. Bonnie left, feeling obligated to purchase some fabric she liked and making certain it was wrapped up securely so Amos wouldn't be able to see.

Amos was waiting for her outside, always considerate about the fact that no respectable woman would be seen in a saloon. He was smiling vacantly at something in the distance, swaying slightly from side to side as he stood. Bonnie grinned at the sure sign that he'd had more than one drink. Amos was a lightweight and it only took three drinks for him to become the chattiest man in Armadillo.

Bonnie inquired about the news around town idly, as she did any time he took a trip to the saloon. She looked towards the saloon but saw no sign of the man from the train. She listened with half an ear to Amos on the trip home, wondering where the man had gone. Amos talked about more than one thing, but didn't mention anything about the stranger until they were nearing the ranch.

"Man's name is John Marston, I hear."

Bonnie sat straighter in her seat. "What man?"

Amos chuckled, suddenly appearing less drunk than he had in town. "I'm no fool, Miss MacFarlane. Knew you had no package to pick up. You went just last week. But the drink after a long day was a nice thought."

Bonnie's cheeks tinged red but she was stubborn and refused to be embarrassed. "Where's he from?" she asked.

Amos' expression darkened. "Don't rightly know. Nothing much but rumors. Ol' Jake was hired to be his guide to Fort Mercer was what's been said. Like I thought, not a man to be trusted if he's meeting up with the Williamson gang."

Bonnie's brow furrowed. Bill Williamson was more than just a bad sort, he was the scourge itself, his gang attacking ranches with no warning. What would a man want to see him for? Seemed like Amos was right about the man after all.

"Who hired Jake?"

Amos shrugged, getting down from the wagon as Bonnie stopped near the barn. "Don't know, but we should stay away whatever the case."

Bonnie nodded reluctantly, thanking Amos as she headed up to the house. Maybe he was bad news, but the man intrigued her. And the question of his connection to Bill Williamson would nag at her until it was solved.

The next morning she decided she needed to know more about the man John Marston, convincing herself that it was so she could be more informed about the dangers he presented. She asked Amos to accompany her to Armadillo to run an errand. Her father had been confused with her need to return to town when she'd just visited it the day before. Amos had partly understood her intentions and agreed readily enough. Bonnie hoped that her father would let the matter lie, which he did with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand to get going.

Bonnie drove the wagon, a tight ball of anxiety settling in the pit of her stomach at what she was about to do. Fort Mercer was a dangerous place, even the area surrounding it was avoided at all costs. Amos was silent the entire ride, but when he understood where she was bringing them, he immediately tried to take the reins from her hand. She shot a glare at him, her chin lifting stubbornly. He shook his head, but he clutched the shotgun he held even tighter. She never meant to get so close, but something compelled her to drive down the road passing Fort Mercer directly.

The sight of the man's body crumpled on the side of the road made her gasp. She slowed the wagon and jumped to the ground before it had come to a full stop. She approached him with tears in her eyes. No one deserved this, a grave in the open air at the side of a road. She could bury him at least. She could do that much for this stranger.

"Help me with him, Amos."

Amos glanced towards Fort Mercer with nervous eyes. "Come on miss. There's nothing we can do for him, he's dead."

As Amos spoke, John Marston groaned, the noise filled with pain.

"He's alive Amos!"

Amos shook his head, urging her to get back on the wagon. "Come on, ma'am. He's a criminal."

Bonnie scowled at Amos. "So what if he is? We can't just leave him here to die. The least we can do is bring him to the doctor's"

Amos agreed reluctantly, insisting on lifting the man by himself and setting him on the back of the wagon. Bonnie drove to Armadillo without care for speed. She winced at every groan from the man or heavy jolt from the wagon but the sooner she reached Armadillo the better.

The doctor had taken one look at the man Amos carried in and shook his head in resignation. "I can fix him up but it'll cost you Miss MacFarlane."

"Whatever the cost, I'll be happy to pay."

It was a quick procedure despite Bonnie's anxiety. The doctor pulled the bullet from his side with a low whistle, commenting that the man was lucky with the location. He received a few stitches and his side was bandaged tightly so it wouldn't bleed too much. The doctor offered to keep the man on a bed in his office but Bonnie insisted on bringing him home to the ranch. She gave the excuse that the man needed to repay her so she would keep him close until he did. The doctor accepted her explanation with a shrug, relieved that the problem was out of his hands. Amos didn't say a word on the way back to the ranch, placing the man in one of the spare cabins at her direction.

Before he left to attend to his duties he commented, "Best let your father know."

Bonnie was left alone with John Marston, Amos satisfied that he was well and truly out. She watched him for a bit, still compelled to know more about him. When the sun started to set she finally left back to the house. Her father was sitting on a rickety chair on the porch.

"'Bout time you came to the house. Where have you been, Bonnie?"

Bonnie sighed. "Saved a man from the side of the road. Brought him to Armadillo to see the doctor. I was just making sure he was resting."

Drew MacFarlane frowned. "And who paid for the doctor's bill?"

"We did." Bonnie dropped her eyes from her father's stern gaze. "I couldn't just leave him to die."

Drew sighed. "No you couldn't, not my girl. Doctor's are expensive Bonnie. Make sure that man pays it off."

"Thank you, Daddy." She could see that he was still suspicious, but he'd relented for now. Her father was surprisingly lenient with her, generally giving her free reign with her actions. She loved him for it all the more.

John Marston remained unconscious for two more days. She kept an eye on him, only neglecting her responsibilities slightly, but Amos covered for her. He had a fever that finally abated on the second night.

She returned the third morning. opening the door and seeing that he was awake with relief. "Well, you're alive." she said nonchalantly, forcing herself to act as she normally would.

"So it would seem," he said raising his hands to look at them.

"How do you feel?"

"I don't know the polite word for it," he responded carefully.

Bonnie wanted to smile at that. She rested her hand on her hip. "I do. 'Stupid' is the word we use around here." She stared at him, needing to understand his actions. "What were you doing?"

"I was..." he started to sit up, pausing as the pain in his ribs increased and groaning. "I was doing something stupid." he agreed.

"You'll be fine. Doctor said you'll live. He got the bullet out a couple days ago." she paused. "It cost us fifteen dollars." She didn't mean to sound like she expected it back, but her father had been adamant.

He looked towards her with an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry, madam. You should have left me to die."

Bonnie frowned in dismay. Was that his purpose? "Did you want to die? Is that why you went straight to Fort Mercer and picked a fight with the worst bandit in the county? Because you had a death wish? Mr...err...?" She wasn't about to let on that she knew his name, or that she'd been searching for him.

"Mr. Marston," he said as he stood up to greet her properly. "John Marston."

Bonnie stepped forward as he sat back down, making it clear with her introduction that she was unattached. "Bonnie MacFarlane. _Miss_ Bonnie MacFarlane."

John rested his palms on his knees. "You may be right, Miss MacFarlane. I don't know." he sounded almost defeated as he admitted it.

"Hmm." Bonnie wasn't quite sure if that was right. "So what were you doing?"

"Was trying to give Mr. Williamson a chance, for old time's sake." He looked away as he spoke, certain of her censure.

Bonnie was slightly incredulous. "You know Bill Williamson?"

"_Knew_ him, a long time ago."

Bonnie's curiosity was piqued even more. "Well, what was he like?"

"Dumb," he deadpanned, standing once again to his feet.

Bonnie smirked. "Just like you."

"Thank you miss." John reached to tip the brim of his hat, looking at his empty fingers in confusion. "Have you seen my hat?"

"I have." Bonnie asserted and pointed to the table she'd placed it on when he arrived. She crossed her arms as he walked to the table. "And, uh, what will you do now?"

John placed his hat back on his head and strode back towards her. "And now I'm going to take my time and go after him the right way."

Bonnie felt a moment of exasperation. "Well that sounds like fun, Mr. Marston. Quite heroic," she added with a hint of sarcasm. "Just like in those penny dreadfuls my brothers liked to read." She raised her hands up, "If you'll excuse me, I have a ranch to run." Bonnie walked a step away before pausing and turning back. "If you're feeling better, why not help me patrol the perimeter." Her tone made it obvious that it was more an order than a suggestion. "You can earn back the money we spent on your doctor's bill."

She watched as he put his gun belt back on, nodding his head once in agreement. "Of course, Miss MacFarlane. And thank you...for saving my life."

Bonnie's head tilted slightly as she regarded him. "Next time, Mr. Marston. I strongly recommend you try not to lose it quite so earnestly." She turned and walked away, hearing his voice behind her.

"I'll bear that in mind."

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry about the short chapter. I think this story will be full of them until later on, but that should mean quicker updates!**

**Thank you so much to Red Dead Romance for the review! If you turn out to be my only reader, well I'm still happy! :p**

**Any recognizable dialogue belongs solely to the creators of RDR.**

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John wasn't quite sure what to make of the woman who'd saved him. He recognized her instantly as the pretty woman from the train. He wondered briefly if he'd died and gone to some sort of heaven, but then Abigail would be the one to greet him, wouldn't she?

He'd woken up in a room he didn't recognized, the pain in his side sharp and lancing. He took a few breaths, studying the ceiling as he tried to remember where he was, or how he'd gotten here. He heard footsteps approaching, turning his eyes to the door as the woman entered. His breath caught for just a moment as she spoke to him.

The entire conversation was odd, underscored by the woman's probes and sarcastic replies. He found he didn't mind it one bit. Abigail had been harsh in her sarcasm, often openly antagonistic. This woman's tone was dry, yet almost teasing. He wanted to prolong the conversation but he had to remind himself he was on a mission.

It hurt like a bitch to stand and introduce himself so he sat back down immediately. When he stood again, he finally realized that his hat, a thing that was almost apart of him, was missing from the top of his head. When he put it on, something in him settled at the familiar weight. Her name, Bonnie MacFarlane, suited her and he felt a moment's relief when he realized that whoever the man at the train station was, he wasn't her husband. He readily agreed to her demand for his help, knowing that he owed her far more than just his life, but also a chance to save Jack's.

When she left the cabin and walked away, he couldn't help but watch the subtle sway of her hips.

After securing his gun belt and making sure he had his weapon, he went out to search for Miss MacFarlane. He tried the main house first, certain to find her there, as this seemed to be her property. When he approached she was leaning against the column on the front veranda.

"Mr. Marston," she greeted him. "Good to see you up and about." She sounded genuine and he appreciated the concern.

"I figured it was time I tried to pay back what I owed you."

Bonnie nodded, walking away from the house and led him to where she had the horses tied up and waiting. She pointed out the building they were approaching, remarking, "There's the foreman's office. It's also where we lock up good for nothing criminals such as yourself." She spoke with a hint of playfulness, but he took her words at face value, responding seriously in kind.

"I'm happy enough with my current quarters, Miss MacFarlane."

Bonnie shook her head at him and pointed to the dark horse that stood idly beside her own. "This one's yours." At John's hesitation she smirked. "He won't bite."

John nodded, jumping easily into the saddle and waiting patiently for Bonnie to mount her own horse.

Bonnie nudged her horse into a walk, calling over her shoulder. "Come on, it's time for you to see what a real ranch looks like."

John followed slightly behind her as she pointed out the general store. "Very convenient," he noted. "Don't think I've ever seen a ranch with it's own store before."

When she asked him about his opinion on the corral he responded truthfully, "I'm no expert but it certainly looks like a very fine corral."

Bonnie looked back at him with a smirk. "I suspect you've stolen more horses than you've broken."

John felt a moment of chagrined surprised at her blunt words. "Now where'd you get such an idea?"

Bonnie responded carefully, thinking of Amos' warnings the first time she'd seen John Marston. "First impressions are hard to erase." A first impression that had led her to seek him out.

They rounded the corral, Bonnie leading him to the train station. "Things sure have changed when the line got finished. Bringing in all sorts of new people, such as yourself."

"Is that such a bad thing?" John wondered. If he was here to get rid of Bill, surely it was a good deed, despite the misdeeds of his past.

"Change is only good when it makes things better." Bonnie spoke with an air of superiority, but he found that he didn't disagree with the sentiment.

They circled the rest of the ranch quickly, Bonnie pointing out the barn with pride. "Pa built it himself when I was just a little girl."

Finally, they were back where they started. John tried to hide his labored breathing, his side still aching sharply from his wound. Bonnie noticed and guided her horse back to the hitching post. "Why don't we take a rest before we head out on patrol?"

John hitched his horse to the post gratefully. "You'll get no complaints from me, Miss MacFarlane."

When he slid from his horse, Bonnie was watching him with expectation. "Well, how bout a cold drink Mr. Marston?" She started walking towards the house, John falling into step beside her.

"Thank you, ma'am." he paused. "Getting shot and then ridin' a horse seems to take a lot out of you."

He was rewarded with a small laugh from Bonnie. "Come on in," she invited. "I can show you the house and then you can sit for awhile."

"Thank you," he stated simply, eager to be off his feet after even a short ride.

He saw a lot less of the house than he might have hoped, some part of him curious at the chance to see Bonnie's home. It was simply decorated but homey in a way that made him wish Jack was with him. This was a house Jack would have liked. She showed him to the room closest to the front door, urging him to sit as she prepared them some iced tea. John settled on a chair, exhaustion making his eyelids heavy.

Bonnie brought the glasses in on a tray, humming softly to herself and found John sleeping soundly. His head was resting awkwardly against the back of the chair and she realized she should wake him. But he looked like he dearly needed the sleep, his snores making her smile. She hadn't been oblivious to his heavy breathing from their ride, or the way he held his side when he thought she wasn't looking. So she turned around with the tray, leaving him to wake up on his own.

Bonnie was forced to wake him up after night had already fallen,

"Mr. Marston." she called. He was still in the same position she'd left him in and he jolted awake, getting to his feet.

"Miss MacFarlane?"

Bonnie wasted no time. "Remember the trouble I mentioned we've been having with the rustlers and other undesirables?" At his nod she continued. "Will you help me keep watch on the property line this evening?" She held out one of the rifles she was holding.

"Sure," he took the rifle from her, inspecting it carefully.

"I want to see just who is trespassing on our land." Bonnie smile was full of mischief. "Let's head out then. The country's really beautiful at around this time."

When they were mounted on their horses, Bonnie admitted, "I feel a lot happier someone's along with me. Thank you Mr. Marston."

John brushed off her thanks, "I feel a lot happier now I got a rife."

Bonnie smiled ruefully, her features hidden from John in the dark. "Well, with your trigger itch and my feminine intuition, we should make quite the team."

The night was less eventful than he'd hoped, but that was probably a good thing with his injury. They shot some rabbits and coyotes, Bonnie ever grateful for the small help he'd provided. There didn't seem to be much else going on that night so Bonnie offered to see him to his room.

"You know, you can actually handle a rifle." she observed with interest. His shots at the quickly fleeing rabbits and coyotes had been dead on.

"It's something I've had some experience in." John admitted.

Bonnie smiled. "Maybe Bill Williamson did get lucky after all."

"Luck didn't really come into it, miss."

"You're a useful man to have around the ranch, that's for sure. Don't think I've forgotten what brought you here though. We'll do whatever we can to help you."

"I sure appreciate that, Miss MacFarlane."

They arrived at the cabin Bonnie was currently lending to John and he hitched his horse before slowly sliding off the saddle.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Marston. Makes me kind of happy I saved your life." Bonnie kept her tone light, but the sentiment was a genuine one. She still wasn't sure what she would have done if she'd found him dead on the side of that road. "Get some sleep and I will see you in the morning." She lifted her hand in farewell as John moved to the cabin.

He lifted his own in return. "Goodnight, Miss MacFarlane."

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I know the summary says major plot changes. And those are coming, but for the moment I'll be following the missions surrounding Bonnie and John almost to the letter. Just a heads up!**

**I really like the dialogue in the game between Bonnie and John so I've kept it almost word for word in this chapter. Everything recognizable does not belong to me. This happens during the missions "Obstacles in our Path" and "This is Armadillo, USA" with a John/Bonnie take on them.**

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John was eager to help around the ranch the next couple of nights, seeing very little of Bonnie MacFarlane. He was introduced to the foreman and spent his nights with a shaggy dog that sniffed out trouble. There wasn't much for him to really concern himself with. A few men fighting, a horse or two stolen which he returned. Once a man had been dragging a woman down the road and John had been the closest to killing a man since he'd arrived at MacFarlane's ranch. He ended up hogtying the bastard and dropping him none too gently at the foreman's office to receive his punishment.

A few nights of very little sleep and John found he was restless to move on from the nightwatch job, at least for awhile. He needed to find Bill Williamson, and while he truly enjoyed helping out the woman who'd saved his life, he needed to do more.

The next morning John decided on a visit to Bonnie. He'd seen her in passing, a nod or wave to say hello across the yard. But John had been pushing himself more than he should in his attempt to repay his debt. As it was, he'd been exhausted the last couple of days, sleeping intermittently throughout the day and patrolling the ranch at night. His side still bothered him, more a dull ache than the sharp pain of the day he awoke but it was manageable. He'd had far worse injuries.

He approached the house, wondering if she was still inside or if she'd already left on some errand for the ranch. He meant to knock on the door, but somehow he was opening it before realizing, hoping that he didn't offend her by just barging into her home.

Bonnie was walking up the steps to the second floor and turned quickly at his entrance, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him. "Oh, Mr. Marston. How are ya doing today?"

John closed the door and turned back towards her. "I'm well, Miss MacFarlane. Thank you. How are you?"

"Well, I'm fine, thank you." Bonnie gestured at his torso. "So, ah, how are your ribs?"

John waved away her concern. "Fine. A little sore, but apart from a couple extra scars it'll be as nothing happened."

"Good" Bonnie said with relief. "Come in."As John walked towards her, she tilted her head in sudden curiosity. "You know, You never did tell me how you met that Bill Williamson, or what you wanted from him."

John nodded once. "No miss, I did not."

"Well, why not? If you don't mind me asking." she pressed.

"I certainly don't mind you asking, if you don't mind me not telling." John circled around her. "See, it's a complicated and somewhat pathetic tale and by telling you, not only would I be putting your life in danger but also threatening the lives of someone I hold very dear."

Bonnie was a little disappointed as she turned away. "I apologize if I seemed to be prying."

"And I apologize for my reticence." John said with some regret. "I hope you believe me when I say that it is simply out of respect for you."

Bonnie still felt a little bitter by his deflections and her tone might have been a little sarcastic as she circled him in turn, gesturing with her hands to make her point. "Of course, Mr. Marston. I understand that a city dweller, such as yourself, likes to have some exotic secrets so us country folk are impressed."

John let out a snort of disbelief at the turn in her mood. "I'm no city man, miss."

"Yeah, but I saw you get on the train at Blackwater." Bonnie accused. "You with those gentleman in bowler hats."

John shook his head in denial. "I'm still no city man."

Bonnie chose to let the matter drop, shoving her disappointment at his secretive nature away. "But I bet you can't ride, Mr. Marston."

John's expression relaxed minimally, a smile playing around the corner of his mouth. "I hate to take money from a lady, miss."

Bonnie laughed at his arrogance. "Oh, you won't be. I'll race you right now," she challenged him.

John shrugged. "If it makes you happy."

"We'll see," Bonnie said with a determined smirk. She raced him out the door to their horses, both hitched conveniently at the foreman's office. "I'll show you how we ride around these parts," Bonnie called over her shoulder.

They mounted their horses and Bonnie led him up to the starting line, a point in front of her large house. It seemed that the race had already been decided on, the way led by smoking pyres that created minimal risk for the dry grass surrounding them.

Bonnie counted down, off like a shot when she cried go. John was only steps behind her. "I trust you're not going to be a gentleman about this." Bonnie taunted him.

It was soon enough that he was neck and neck with her, the pain in his side forgotten as he watched her eyes sparkle with mischief. But he was determined to win this one, if only to prove to her that he wasn't some city man. He loathed Edgar Ross and every man like him with their sophisticated clothing and condescending attitude. "Let's pick up the pace," John urged as he passed her.

He could hear Bonnie spurring her horse onwards, but he remained in the lead for the remainder of the race, pulling into the ranch yard just ahead of her. They both slowed to a stop, John glancing at Bonnie's flushed face and wide smile.

"That was fun." she proclaimed, despite the loss.

"Sure." John agreed, though he wasn't quite sure of the point of it. They'd lost daylight that could have been spent on other things. But Bonnie looked genuinely happy, and he could admit that he enjoyed the competitiveness of it.

Bonnie's smile faded as she looked at him. "You know, you should go pay the Marshall a visit in Armadillo sometime. I'm sure he could help you deal with that nice Mr. Williamson."

"Yeah, I might just do that, Miss MacFarlane."

Bonnie smirked. "Do whatever you think's best Mr. Marston."

After the race, John was certain that he would go see the Marshall. It would be quite a ride, and he was reluctant to leave Bonnie, _Miss MacFarlane_, he corrected himself silently. He didn't have the privilege of addressing her by her first name, and he never would. Yet, Bonnie slipped into his thoughts easily, and almost tripped out of his mouth as well.

He chose to stay another night, convincing himself that it would be better to arrive in the morning or afternoon rather than the late evening, which was guaranteed if he left now. He spent the day wandering the yard of the ranch, checking out the corral and barn. He noticed the ranch lead keeping a careful eye on him, and John wondered if Bonnie had instructed him to. But he didn't think she was the type, too straightforward of a woman to hide anything. Yet, maybe it was her father, who John had heard of but hadn't met personally. John ignored the man, Amos, and chose to spend the rest of the day quietly in his cabin.

The next morning he approached the house just as Bonnie was exiting, She seemed in a cheerful mood, greeting him eagerly.

"Ah, Mr. Marston, how are you?"

"Good Miss MacFarlane, how are you?"

"I'm well...would you mind riding with me to Armadillo? I got to get some supplies and I could do with the company."

"Of course," John agreed readily, pleased to be spending more time with her.

"You can take the reins," Bonnie teased him. "It wouldn't do for such a terrifying bounty hunter such as yourself to be seen driven around by a woman."

John threw his head back and laughed, surprised once again at how at ease he felt with her. And how much he'd been tempted to smile when he was with her.

He hopped up beside her in the wagon, snapping the reins to get the horses moving.

"So do tell me, have you needlessly risked your life since we last spoke?" Bonnie questioned.

John almost laughed, seeing as he'd seen her only the day before. Still, he answered dutifully. "No, miss, I have not."

"Well, that's a relief. Perhaps there's hope for you yet."

John shook his head ruefully. "I wouldn't bet on it."

"Oh, there's always hope, Mr. Marston. You can't be a rancher in this kind of country if you don't believe that."

"An admirable attitude, miss."

"I suppose so. I can't think of any other way to stay sane, to be frank. What about you? Have you ever given up hope altogether?"

John considered the question for a brief second before answering. "Hope hasn't really entered into it. It's not really something I think about."

Bonnie sighed in exasperation. "A peculiar outlook. I can't say I really understand you." she admitted.

"I can't always say I do either." John conceded. Sometimes he couldn't always understand why he was the way he was, but he admittedly didn't spend much time mulling it over.

Bonnie's brow creased as she glared at him. "Oh, don't be so deliberately enigmatic."

"I'm not miss." John protested. He truly was only answering her questions to the best of his ability, but that didn't seem to satisfy her.

"Yes you are," Bonnie asserted. "You're being deliberately obscure as a substitute for having a personality."

John sighed. "I just know there's two theories to arguin' with women. And neither one of them works."

Bonnie huffed. "I'm not even going to dignify that gibberish with a response."

They remained silent for a few minutes, John enjoying the feel of her arm brushing against his. He wasn't a talker by nature, preferring to listen and observe. But Bonnie seemed determined to keep the conversation going.

"I think it's funny I found you dying on the side of the road and now you're driving me into town."

John shot her a look of confusion. "You have a strange sense of humor."

"Well, you must admit," Bonnie hesitated for a moment. "it's an unusual start to a friendship."

John's heart skipped. "I didn't realize we were friends, Miss MacFarlane?"

"Oh, please. Now who's being funny? I know that business with Williamson is your business, but...I don't know..." Bonnie shrugged helplessly. "You've been good to us...And...I don't think you're a bad man. A little stupid perhaps," she teased, "but not rotten. I just worry about you gallivanting around these parts like you're some kind of deranged bounty hunter." Bonnie concluded, "Like Pa always said, don't go waking snakes."

John wasn't quite sure how to respond. He was affected by her words, pleased at her concern but equally annoyed that she felt the need to chastise him when she didn't know the reasons behind what he did. He ignored the thought that it was his fault she was oblivious to what was at stake. But he cared for her safety, genuinely wishing she'd never found him so she wouldn't be caught in this mess with Ross.

"I appreciate your concern for us lesser mortals, Miss MacFarlane. I really do. And if there was any other way out. I'd take it. I can assure you of that."

Bonnie caught the sarcasm in his voice, but also the desperation. She realized that he was telling her as much as he was capable of. Or allowed to. So she let the matter drop, still feeling the sting as he shut her out. She chose to change the subject, steering it towards hopefully less volatile queries. Despite his reticence, she was still eager to learn more, enamored with the man after only a few short conversations.

"You never did tell me where you live."

John figured there was no reason to withhold innocent enough information. Bonnie would never see his home, or even desire to. "I have a small holding up in Great Plains." he conceded.

Bonnie scoffed. "A farmer?" she asked disbelieving. "Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England. And at what point during your day of hunting down outlaws do you find time to raise chickens?"

John took a breath, hoping he wouldn't lose his temper. Bonnie was his friend, by her own admission. But her doubt of the accomplishments he fought so hard for, no matter how dismal they appeared to her, hurt. When he'd allowed no one's words or ridicule to hurt him, not even Abigail's, not even his own son who looked on him with disappointment most days.

"Only been at it for three years or so," he said tightly. "I guess I'm kinda new to it."

"You're telling me!" Bonnie said with some surprise. "So who's looking after this farm of yours right now?"

"Uncle. Well, he's not really my uncle...as far as I know. Just an old dog who's as lazy as a lizard on a hot day. The kinda fella laboring under the delusion that age brings wisdom."

"Urgh...sounds like a perfect person to leave in charge of your entire livelihood."

"We go way back. And I didn't have a lot of choice," John said bitterly, thinking of Jack, alone with only Uncle to protect him from Ross and the men who worked for him.

"I'd be getting back there if I was you." Bonnie suggested, a frown marring her features.

"That's what I'm trying to do, miss."

They remained silent until he could see Armadillo in the distance. He figured Bonnie would stay silent for the rest of the trip but she spoke again. Possibly to end the awkward silence that followed his bitter words.

"How well do you know New Austin?" Bonnie asked.

"I don't. We talked about coming down here many times but we never made it."

"Who's 'we'?" Bonnie asked with some hesitance.

"Me and the folks I used to...used to work with. Yeah. New Austin, the last real outlaw country. Where the old ways still hold true. You do a man wrong, he'll shoot you for it. You do a man right...well, he still may shoot you for it. But at least you have an idea of what's right and what's wrong here."

"Dear, oh dear, Mr. Marston...what dreadful novel did you get that romantacized drivel out of? Those days are long gone, if they were ever here at all. According to Pa, those days were just people shooting each other because they lost at cards. We'll be lucky if our ranch survives another 5 years. Businessmen are the new cowboys."

John didn't agree or disagree, keeping his thoughts to himself. Maybe Bonnie was right. Maybe the world was now run by people like Edgar Ross. But there was still room for men like him, though the walls were closing in on him. Men like Ross needed men like him to do their dirty work. But what then? He forced those thoughts away, focusing on Bonnie as she spoke again with false enthusiasm.

"So this is Armadillo. Manhattan it is not, but it does okay for us. Most important thing for you right now is getting yourself into Doctor Johnson's office to purchase some medicine. The first one's on me."

John accepted her money reluctantly, but he still had nothing of his own. "Thank you, miss. I'll pay you back." he promised.

"I'm sure you shall. The doc's a good fellow. He saved your life, so be polite to him please. Meet me in front of the general store when you're done."

John tipped his hat, making his way to the Doctor's office. The man eyed him warily, recognizing him but he was polite if abrupt. He figured he'd have to take Bonnie's word that the man was usually courteous.

He met Bonnie at the general store, where she was already sitting on the wagon, reins in her hands.

"Well thanks for driving me. It was nice to be able to enjoy the view for once. And a little company never hurts now and again."

"You're more than welcome, miss. Least I can do. Thank you for the medicine."

Bonnie nodded once. "Why don't you have a look around Armadillo? You can always take the stagecoach back to the ranch later."

John could sense her uneasiness around him, the need for time to herself, perhaps to truly take in their conversation. He hoped that she would stay away from him now. Another part of him hoped just as fervently that she would stay her stubborn self and continue to pester him with questions.

"I might do that," he decided. "Travel safely, miss."

"Try not to get yourself shot. I won't be around to save you this time." She spoke with a teasing smile but he could see the genuine worry in her eyes.

He tipped his hat in acknowledgment and watched as she guided the wagon away, back towards her ranch.

**Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry about the wait guys! I'm still working on this story, but I did get caught on this chapter. I also had my younger brother visiting for the entire summer. Between him and my sister, I've barely touched my Xbox or laptop in the past two months. I'm hoping to provide a few updates for my stories in the next week or so to make up for it.**

**The chapter ends a little abruptly but I really wanted to get it out, so I'll continue the scene in the next chapter. Much of the dialogue was taken directly from RDR, although I edited the conversations somewhat, rewording and omitting what I could. Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

**I don't own anything :(**

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John walked into the Sheriff's office, not quite sure what to expect. What he wasn't expecting was to find the Marshall sleeping in one of the unoccupied cells.

"Excuse me" he tried to wake the man up.

There was a prisoner in one of the other cells, and the prisoner helpfully yelled at the sleeping man. "Hey! Hey! You've got a visitor."

The sleeping man woke up coughing, struggling to sit up on the narrow cot and spitting on the already filthy floor. He already wore a belligerent expression as he reprimanded the prisoner.

"Shut up you!" he gestured impatiently at John. "What you want?"

"My name is John Marston. You wanted to speak to me."

The man tilted his head in confusion. "I did?"

"Apparently so."

"Why?"

John still wasn't sure to make of the idiot, but decided to humor him. "I guess, because we're both in the business of the law."

John watched with mild disgust as the man got to his feet carefully, stretching his arms out as he walked towards him, before settling casually against the railing of the cell. "You that fella from the train company?"

"No," John spoke patiently, willing the man to understand. "I'm from Fort Mercer."

The man's reaction was somewhat expected. "Fort Mercer." He straightened, reaching for his gun. "You them. You one of them Williamson boys."

John pulled his gun out just as swiftly, pointing it carefully. "Calm down." he requested.

The prisoner was on his feet, watching for the outcome eagerly. "Go on shoot 'em, mister! Shoot him." he urged John on.

The man held his gun out with both hands nervously. "Go on what...you getting cute with me boy?"

John stared the man down, barely reacting to the voice that suddenly intruded on their standoff. "What's going on here?"

The new arrival came around John, spitting on the ground as he looked to the man for an explanation.

The man took his eyes off of John, but kept his gun pointed firmly in his direction. "I got me one them Williamson boys." he proclaimed.

John wanted to snort at that, but addressed the new arrival. "I've got me one them idiots who give marshals a bad name." he offered.

The new arrival spoke to the man with the gun. "Jonah, put your gun down." Jonah stowed his gun away with reluctance, John following suit. "You must be the man from Blackwater." John realized with relief that the new arrival was in fact the actual marshal.

"Yes sir. Listen, that dog ain't too bright," he paused in consideration, "but he seems loyal."

"Jonah, get out of here for a minute."

Jonah agreed respectfully. "Yes, sir. Mr. Johnson sir." He spit on the ground, jabbing a finger at John in disdain. "And you. Oh, I done seen enough of your hide around here, _friend_." Jonah swaggered towards the door, John chuckling at the pathetic display.

"I think there are some school children down the way you could go and frighten." He told him scornfully.

Jonah waved his arms around in mock amusement. "Oh, hardy fucking harr." He turned out the door, grumbling, "Dickhead!" as he walked out.

The Marshal went straight to business. "What are you doing here, Mr. Marston? Apart from frightening my deputies?"

"I'm here to capture or kill Bill Williamson."

The Marshal looked taken aback for a brief moment before laughing in disbelief. "Okay."

"Can you help me?" John asked.

The Marshal spoke around the cigar he had between his lips. "He's outside my jurisdiction; he's in the next county." he pulled the cigar out of his mouth and leaned against his desk. "Of course, Williamson and his boys have tended to keep themselves away from my town."

John couldn't believe what he was hearing. "So you're happy to have him out there?"

The Marshall shrugged. "Well, I ain't happy, but I also ain't suicidal." he tapped his own chest with a finger. "My job is to keep this town safe, not clean up all of these 3 counties. It's hard enough around here."

"Ya know...I hear you speak and suddenly I'm reminded of how some of the people I respected most in my life had a problem with authority. What's wrong with you?" John demanded, angry at the careless attitude of the one man whose job it was to take Williamson down.

"Well, I'm sure you and your fine friends have enjoyed spending your time running around pursuing noble causes," the Marshal poured himself a drink. "My cause is to keep this town from turning into a living hell for the folks who live here." The Marshal took a swig of his drink, pouring another one in a different cup. "Whole world has problems, mister, and I'm here, doing what I can." He offered John the drink.

John took the offering. "Why what's happening?"

"Right now?" The Marshal began to list off his problems matter-of-factly. "I got the railway, the people who pay my salary, trying to get me to turn a blind eye to them burning down settlements up there. I got a bunch of cattle rustlers out near box canyon need shutting down, not forgetting the gang that keeps murdering homesteaders out in the back country and I got a bunch of hoods over in the saloon; drunk, threatening to shoot up the whole town. That's all I got today, but it's early yet. Give it a couple more days and there'll be more."

John didn't envy the man, noting the defeated slump of the Marshal's shoulders, the weary glint in his eye.

John straightened, squaring his shoulders in determination. "So where do we start?"

The Marshal laughed outright, staring at John in disbelief. "You're serious?"

"I wasn't aware I was laughing." He stared the Marshal down.

The Marshal conceded with a tip of his hat. "Well, I'm not going to argue with an offer of help." He paused, watching John with consideration. "I promise that when it's all said and done, I'll help you with Williamson and his gang. Fair's fair."

"Thank you, Marshal." John said simply.

XX

John knew that the time he spent with the Marshal would mean time he had to spend away from Bonnie. And the regret he felt was entirely inappropriate. Miss MacFarlane was a friend, was slowly becoming one he considered dear. So he thought it was only right to pay her a visit before he set out to rid this county of the bandits, thieves and gangs that had led the Marshal on a merry chase to exhaustion.

He approached her home when the sun was setting, the fiery embers of dying light striking against her fair hair. He admired it as he approached, almost missing her greeting to him.

"Hello Mr. Marston. I've been hearing about your plans." She stood at his approach, leaning casually against the railing of the porch.

"Have you, Miss MacFarlane?" John wondered what she was speaking of.

"Yes, of course. From Leigh Johnson. I hear you plan to settle here and build a life for yourself." She spoke as if she hardly believed the words, John finding it hard to stomach himself.

"I'm afraid you've been mislead. I already have a life, or...I did, and I'm trying to reclaim it." John could feel himself becoming flustered under Bonnie's studied gaze, her brow raised in confusion. "Or I guess you could say I have two lives, and I'm trying to end one of them so I can live the other one..." He trailed off, uncertain where he was going with this, faintly embarrassed by Bonnie's mocking smile.

"You do so like to talk in riddles Mr. Marston. Do you do that to avoid actually having something interesting to say?"

John conceded her point with a deprecating smile. "Probably Miss MacFarlane."

Bonnie threw her hands up, turning away from him as she implored him, "Oh, call me Bonnie you fool!" She sat on a bench, sighing in exasperation. "Call me Bonnie."

And the hope he saw in her eyes teared at him, and he wanted nothing more than to agree with her, to call her by her first name but he could not. Not when he had a son to return to, not when his wife was barely months in the cold hard ground. But he wanted the right, even if it was only the smallest of intimacies. He had to make her understand.

"Miss MacFarlane," John spoke slowly, deliberately emphasizing her title. "I'm married, or I was, not three months ago. My wife Abigail is dead. I have a son, I had a daughter, but she died as well." He gauged her reaction, noting the flinch at his mention of Abigail, but he continued. "Years before that, I rode in a gang. We robbed people, banks, trains, held innocent people for ransom. We killed people we didn't like. Bill Williamson was in that gang. Now, I have no choice but to capture him or great harm will befall my son." He turned away briefly, not ready to face the condemnation that was sure to be in her eyes. "I don't suppose any of this would mean much to you but I hope it explains my reticence at speaking about it." He waited for her censure, surprised when Bonnie stood up and moved beside him, her arm brushing against his.

"No, it does mean something. I do understand. You poor man."

Something in him broke at the genuine sympathy in her voice, and he could not look at the woman who was so generous not to condemn him for his previous life. He spoke aloud, his tone contemplative. "Even in this new country, memories don't ever fade. My father was an illiterate Scot born on the boat into New York. He talked of his parent's home as if he was born and raised in it, hating the English for their actions against grandparents he'd never met. Nothing ever gets forgotten. People never forgive."

"Maybe that's true," Bonnie agreed. "Especially when it comes to money. Even now, after all my father's years of labor, his debt is still unimaginable. I worry all the time about the possibility of losing the ranch. It would kill my father, sure as a shot."

John inclined his head in sympathy. "My father died when I was barely eight years old. He was blinded in a bar fight south of Chicago. My mother died giving birth to me." He laughed bitterly. "She was a prostitute, and my father was...I don't even know what they were to each other. When I was sent to an orphanage, I hated the place. So I ran off and fell in with a gang."

Bonnie shook her head, trying to take in how terrible his early life must have been. "What a difficult life you've lived John."

John tried to shake off his melancholy, tried to show her the good that had happened as well as the bad. "The leader of the gang taught me how to read and write, to see all that was good in the world. He was a great man, in his own way."

Bonnie smiled sadly. "But you've killed people."

"Yes," John did not deny it. "And my conscious has suffered greatly for it. But I'm trying to leave that life behind me..." he groaned. "I've said too much Bonnie. I'm an uneducated killer, sent here to do what I do well. Kill a man in cold blood so another man can cut crime in an area, while a rich man can be elected on the back of my deeds."

"Civilization is a truly marvelous thing, Mr. Marston." Bonnie paused. "Listen, can you help me?"

"I can try my best," John assured her, happy that she'd changed the tone of their conversation. "What do you need? Money?" he wondered, willing to give her every last cent he had to offer.

Bonnie chuckled. "No, nothing so convoluted. I need an extra hand taking the cattle out to pasture."

John smiled, the tension easing from his shoulders at her smile. "Sure, just point me in the right direction."

Bonnie directed him towards the pen they held their cattle, both of them mounting their horses with Bonnie leading the way. Though the solemn moment had been broken, Bonnie still felt the need to acknowledge John's confession.

"Thank you for telling me all that."

"You're welcome, but I'm sure I needed to get it off my chest." John felt lighter than he had in days.

"I never knew you had a son...or a wife, though I never thought to ask you," Bonnie admitted with a little guilt. The truth was that she'd hoped he'd been unattached, and she'd kept her questions to herself so she could remain in blissful ignorance on the topic. It shamed her that she was somewhat relieved, if not glad, that his wife was dead. And what type of person did that make her? Certainly not the killer John had confessed to being, but not a hell of a lot better in any case. "Your son is lucky to have you." She said it with all honesty, because despite John's faults, she could see that he loved his son and that he would do anything for him, was already doing everything he could to keep him safe.

"I'm not so sure about that," John admitted. "But, thank you."

They had little time to speak after that, Bonnie showing John the ropes of guiding a herd from one destination to another. Strays escaped and it was up to John to return them, which he did with little difficulty and a small sense of pride. When they'd finished, Bonnie had beamed at him, her hair windswept and cheeks red from the wind.

"Ranching just might be your true calling." She smiled slyly at him, teasing lightly. "Either that, or you were a cow in a past life."

John laughed in surprise, "Thank you, Miss MacFarlane."

She raised her hand in a final wave as she turned back towards the house. "I'll see you later. I have more work to do at the ranch."

John watched her ride off, trying to ignore the warmth in his gut. He'd done his best by Bonnie, but now was the time for action. Though he felt better by confessing many of his immeasurable sins, he still had work to do, and he'd promised the Marshal some help. So instead of heading towards the ranch as he wanted to do, John turned his horse towards Armadillo, riding off into the dark of night.

XX

The next several days were rough. John made it back to the MacFarlane ranch as much as he was able, but he was often too exhausted to do anything but set up a fire at the side of a road and hope for the best. The Marshal rode them all hard, eager to face down rustlers or gangs with an effective gun beside him. Not that Jonah or the other deputy Eli weren't competent, but they were a slower shot and it was always a comfort to have at least one more man.

The rustlers were dealt with quickly, the cattle farmers eager to show their gratitude. John hadn't considered the benefit beyond gaining the Marshal's eventual help. But he was given money for every rustler he shot down, for every animal he'd saved. It was enough to arm himself more than adequately and to pay back Bonnie, when he had the chance to see her.

And the chance hadn't presented itself yet. He sensed that she was perhaps eager to place some distance between them after their last conversation, even if it had ended on a somewhat positive note. John knew some of what he'd said had troubled her, but he hoped it hadn't offended her. She had yet to rescind his invitation to remain at the ranch, either in person or sending Amos to see him off, and he considered that a good sign. He told himself to let sleeping dogs lie, to forget the woman with the pretty face and warm laugh, to do his job and return to Jack. But his mind wasn't as cooperative as he'd hoped, thoughts of Bonnie MacFarlane plaguing him at the most random of moments. He figured that she'd see him when she was ready, and not a moment sooner.

The gang that was killing homesteaders was another problem altogether. Unlike the cattle rustlers, they were ruthless and cruel, uncaring of who they hurt or killed. Rape seemed to be a favorite of theirs, John haunted by the numerous women they hadn't saved who wore looks of utter betrayal and shook with terror when they approached. And it was made worse that every woman wore Bonnie's face. John didn't know the reason, only that his mind was manipulated into hearing her voice every time the women cried or shouted at him angrily. The gang was large, organized and they had yet to find a pattern to their attacks. It was only by chance that they put a stop to them, stumbling on them in the middle of another spree of violence.

John was in Armadillo after completing another bounty for the Marshal, when the news was delivered. A trail of bodies that could only mean the gang of bandits was once again on the move. They rode to the first campsite, Eli and Jonah both gagging at the smell and evidence of blatant disrespect to the bodies. It was more than simply gunshots the victims died of, their bodies bearing the marks of severe beatings. It was torture, plain and simple. It made John sick to see. His own past may be unworthy of redemption, but he could say with all honesty that Dutch had never let his men turn into rabid animals, always holding them to a specific code of conduct. People had died, but death had never been the goal and had been avoided at all costs. John would live with the burden of innocent lives for the rest of his life. Clearly these men could care less.

The trail of desecration led them to Ridgewood Farm. They searched the surrounding grounds grimly, hoping to find at least one survivor. The search was futile and the Marshal called their attention to the barn, where he hoped to find either the bandits or any survivors. What they found was a horrific display of blood, slaughtered animals and even a stripped body hanging from the rafters of the barn.

John was turning his eyes to the farmhouse when a young girl ran towards them. He raised his gun in reflex, noting that the Marshal and deputies followed suit.

"Please! Please don't shoot me!" the girl cried. John was dismayed to see that she couldn't have been much older than her early teens, her hair pinned back with a bow. "Some bandits took us hostage. They're holed up in the farmhouse." the girl's hands were clasped beseechingly in front of her, tears streaming down her face. "My family's being kept hostage inside." As the gravity of the situation dawned on her, she collapsed on the ground, sobbing into her hands. "_Please_."

And the stalwart Marshal responded to her plea with immediate action, turning towards the farmhouse with an uttered, "Come on! We need to get into that house, right now."

John entered a state of centered concentration, and he saw nothing but the men he needed to kill. He couldn't say how or why his focus sharpened, but it was fueled by rage, by the blood pumping in his veins, blood that pounded in his ears and drowned out everything but the sound of his gun and their dying cries. It was why Dutch hated to lose him, why he'd been able to get out of more scrapes than were physically possible. He hated the need to kill, hated the darkly inherent thrill he got out of killing men who clearly deserved it. But he would not change it. It had kept him alive, and it would bring him home to Jack.

It was always hard to snap out of the sudden bloodlust, to shove that part of himself away when the shooting was done. By the time the bandits in the farmhouse were all dead, his bullets had cut through over half of them. It was the Marshal who brought him out of it, with a hefty slap to his shoulder, his booming voice forcing John to focus.

"Let's check on the farmers."

John shook his head clear, following the Marshal to the waiting farmers, one woman immediately stepping forward and gesturing towards the hilly expanse outside the farm's gates.

"Some folks tried to escape to the south. The robbers started chasing them down like wild dogs." She glared at the Marshal, "I thought you were supposed to protect us Marshal. You folk ain't men, you ain't _nothing_. You're just some man on the government payroll, taking money that the rest of us have to pay for with our lives."

The Marshal turned to his men, "The man who kills the leader of that gang gets fifty dollars," he declared with renewed vigor.

But it wasn't enough for the woman, already covered in the blood of her family. "It ain't about the money! These are people's lives." She turned towards the women barely restraining her, all three of them erupting into anguished sobs.

It was a cry John was well familiar with, the sound of Jack's cries upon discovering Abigail's prone body ringing in his ears. Never again, he vowed. Not these men.

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**Like I said, a little abrupt, but the next part is a confrontation with Bill Williamson and if I continued on, the chapter might never end. Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought with a review! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**I know Seth's and West Dickens' contributions are important to the progression of the game, but the point of this story is to focus on John and Bonnie. So I may gloss over their parts or perhaps omit them altogether. I'm not quite sure yet. At this point, we're far enough in the game's storyline that West Dicken's at least should have made an appearance but I had no interest to introduce him into my story. Sorry if anyone is eagerly awaiting either of their arrivals. **

**All recognizable dialogue does not belong to me. Also I'm terribly lazy and did not read through for mistakes. Hopefully there are not too many of those...**

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Bonnie was gratified to learn of John's past. She could not condemn him for his actions, not when she wasn't sure what she would have done under the same circumstances. Would she now be a prostitute in one of the saloons that she'd always looked down on with distaste? It was something she'd needed to consider, something that had changed her outlook fundamentally. She'd always felt a certain amount of pity for the loose women of the country, women who earned their meagre pay on their back, doing something that Bonnie did not have any personal experience with. Now she viewed them with, not respect, but with a measure of leniency. Her life was so far from theirs that she could not compare experiences, could not pass any judgment on their choices, or lack thereof, with any certainty. John was a man, and he'd made a choice that had shaped who he had become, and Bonnie could not find fault with that man. She knew his purpose here, knew that with Bill Williamson's demise, John would return to his son at Beecher's Hope. And didn't that thought create an ache in Bonnie that she was afraid to examine too closely. But she also saw the good in him, patrolling her father's ranch late at night while refusing to accept pay when his debt had surely been paid thrice over. Hunting down outlaws, while it did earn him a healthy amount of coin, also created a safer environment for the folks around these parts. And he'd killed men even here, Bonnie was not oblivious to his actions, but he'd done so in self-defense, in pursuit of dangerous criminals that he usually brought in alive, hogtied to his horse. And Bonnie tried to quell the fear that John risking his life caused, the silent voice that wished he'd just kill the bounty rather than bring them to justice, if only so he had a better chance to return, safe and sound. It was not Bonnie's place to worry about a man who clearly did not concern himself with his own safety. It would never be her place, and the thought was drilled in her head when she brought to mind John's declaration that he was married, or had been, which amounted to the same thing. _No it didn't_, her mind urged her.

And wasn't that the crux of the issue. John had been married, probably for several years at this point. It should matter that his wife was dead, it should make Bonnie rethink every blush-worthy thought she'd ever had about the man. And she mourned for him, for the man who'd lost a daughter and wife to a cruel world that had forced him to fight for every little thing he had. But some part of her rejoiced in his wife's demise, a part of her that also sickened her. It was hard to contemplate that Bonnie MacFarlane, morally righteous to a point, had felt relief that John was free to marry again. Amos would perhaps suggest that John had corrupted her, and her father would probably agree if he'd been aware in the slightest that she was even interested in a man. But Bonnie had kept these feelings close to her chest, though John must be aware of them to a degree. She'd all but blatantly demanded that he call her by her first name, an honor reserved for family, close friends, and any man that was courting her. And while she could claim him as a friend, at that point they'd known little more about each other than their names.

John had rejected her minor advances, inept as they'd been. He'd had a very good reason to, but Bonnie was equally certain that he'd also felt some regret about it. Whether it was because he was still in love with his wife and had no desire to hurt her feelings, or that he actually felt something for her and was guilty for it, Bonnie couldn't be sure. She needed to figure out what to do about these feelings, how to approach John now that she was aware that he'd been a married man. Her interactions with him so far had been innocent, and yet her father would have frowned at her driving to town with a man he did not know. Amos was slow to trust anyone, and yet he clung to his dislike of John with a surprising amount of vehemence. It seemed the world was telling her to let John go, to forget him. And it should have been easy, but her heart was stubborn and Bonnie was very much afraid that she'd given even the smallest sliver of it to John. Enough that she would torture herself with his presence for as long as he was willing to endure her.

Bonnie laughed bitterly at the sudden realization that she was just like those women in those penny dreadfuls her brother used to read voraciously. She was falling for a man that would leave her far behind him.

"You okay, Bonnie?" Her father's voice interrupted her thoughts and Bonnie flushed.

"Yes, dad. Just lost in my head." She smiled weakly at his concerned frown.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with that drifter that's been staying here, would it?"

"Jo- Mr. Marston? He's not a drifter," she chastised him gently. "What would make you suggest that?" Bonnie hated hiding anything from her father, had always been open with him about everything. Yet, her discovered feelings must remain hidden. Even if her father approved of John, he would be sorely offended on her behalf to know the man had shown no inclination thus far that he returned her interest.

Her father shrugged, offering an apologetic smile. "Amos mentioned something in passing about the length of time you spent with the man."

"He was shot!" Bonnie defended. "And he was paying us back like you'd insisted. I was only making certain that he knew what the hell he was doing."

"As you should've," her father assured her with raised hands. "You've always been one to take in strays. I just wanted to make sure you realized you couldn't keep this one," he teased her gently.

"He's not a cat," Bonnie retorted in exasperation. She smiled at her father's boisterous laugh.

"Well, I hear he's a fair shot and he's done the ranch a world of good. Bring him by the house one day. I'd like to meet the man. Been hearing interesting things about him from all over."

Bonnie agreed readily, knowing that her father was not a subtle man in the least. If he'd suspected anything, he would have told her outright. That type of candidness was harder to find now, and she appreciated her father all the more for it.

XX

John jumped on his horse, following closely behind Johnson, who set a hard pace in pursuit of the bandits. They trailed them through Cholla Springs towards Mercer Station, the ruins of which were still smoldering from the previous attack.

"Hey!" Eli called. "Who's that up there?" He gestured at the cliff face they were approaching, and to the men that were silhouetted at the top of it.

John pulled sharply on his reins, bringing his horse to an abrupt halt as the voice of Bill Williamson called down to him.

"I didn't kill you John. But I as sure as shit will now!"

John stared at the man who'd left him for dead twice now, eager to finish the job he'd been sent here for. "Give it up, Bill. We both know you're not man enough to stop me." He shook his head, "I don't want to kill you, but I will."

Bill laughed without mirth, bitterness lacing his tone. "You always did have a high opinion of yourself John. Dutch always told me you were an arrogant sonofabitch." He paused, looking around at the men that surrounded him. "I guess he was about right. Get 'em boys!"

The shots began to rain down on them and the horses whinnied in panic. "Take cover," Johnson called out, "in that shed!"

John slid off his horse, making his way quickly to the crumbling foundation of what was once a brick building. The cover it offered was meager at best, but he could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, his focus sharpening as he viewed their opponents.

He barely took note of Bill's retreat as the men swarmed down from the hill, coming at them from several directions. He wasn't aware of how many men he shot down, some falling from panicked mounts and others hit while trying to make their way stealthily to the building they were pigeonholed in. John heard the shouts of Johnson and his two deputies, of the handful of men that had followed to help. The attacking horde seemed almost endless, another man replacing the bandits that fell. Despite the bloodbath, it was over in mere minutes, without a casualty in their small group.

The deputies took stock of their group's injuries, the Marshal watching them idly with an exhausted slump of his shoulders. John scoured the bodies for spare bullets, anything useable, ignoring the flies that had already begun to swarm in this heat, and the gruesome signs of the men's deaths. Bullet holes, shattered bones, missing flesh no longer disturbed him as it had so many years before. He heard Eli gagging discreetly, watched the Marshal turn his face away from the evidence of their work, perhaps out of respect or disgust, or even indifference, John couldn't be sure. It certainly might not be the last bloodbath Johnson would witness. And Eli would either gain the stomach for it or he wouldn't. He still managed to do his job despite his weakness.

"Hey!" Jonah crowed, "Lookee what I got 'ere. This sonofabitch is still breathin'." The bandit was on his hands and knees, crawling away from Jonah. Jonah pretended to ride him, giggling juvenilely at his own display. "Giddy up, Bessie," he taunted, stepping away from the man as Johnson approached them.

"Norman Deek," Johnson aimed a kick at the man's side, watching with satisfaction as he fell to his stomach with a few choice swears. He turned to John, nodding his head in thanks. "Thanks for the help John. Norman here is going to help us get to Bill. Aint you?"

"Thank you Mr. Deek. Mighty kind." John was in a jovial mood, now that he was one step closer to his goal to capture or kill Williamson. He watched them hogtie Deek up and settle him none too gently on Johnson's horse. He offered a wave in farewell, eager to return to the ranch, to rest his aching body, and maybe to see Bonnie, though he would not admit it aloud.

XX

John spent the night out on the side of the road, exhaustion forcing him to stop before he reached MacFarlane's Ranch. He could have made it, but his arrival would have been well into the dead of night and he had no desire to oversleep. Things seemed to be coming to a head with Williamson, Norman Deeks perhaps being the key to bringing him down. And when John did bring Williamson to Ross and Fordham, he was certain to never see MacFarlane Ranch again. It was for the best. Bonnie deserved more than a broken man with a criminal past and nearly grown son that seemed to despise him more with every letter John sent him that went unanswered.

He rode into the ranch and set his sights on the main house. It was still early enough that Bonnie was unlikely to be toiling away just yet. He knocked on the door and entered at Bonnie's voice urging him to step inside. It seems she'd been sitting in the room that John had once fallen asleep in, getting to her feet with a broad smile at his approach.

"Hello, Mr. Marston. How are you?"

John smiled briefly, pleased by the sincerity of the question, Bonnie's eyes studying him for any perceived injury. "I'm well, how are you?"

"Just fine," Bonnie insisted, waving off his question.

She gripped his arm, drawing him towards the man that had been sitting at Bonnie's side. Her father, John realized, noting the faint resemblance between the two.

"John Marston, this is my father, Drew MacFarlane."

John took his hat off in respect, clasping Drew's hand briefly and shaking it.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Marston." His grip was tight but the smile on his face belied any hostility. "Please, take a seat." John sat down on their loveseat, Drew settling heavily on the chair to his right. "So my daughter tells me you're here on some secret mission to remove undesirables from our county."

"Something like that." John agreed amiably. "I'm grateful for the hospitality, sir" He smiled at Bonnie as she served him some tea.

Drew nodded. "We came from the East, been living here for thirty years now. For ten years we fought the Indians, tough men. We've seen outlaws and drought, small pox, cholera. There's been terrible winters. I've buried more children than I've raised."

John held his cup in his hand, inclining his head in sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"I've seen strong men wither and die under that unforgiving sun, with whole herds of cattle take sick and die." Drew emphasized his point with a precarious jut of his cup, the tea threatening to spill over at the gesture. "Yet, I've never once doubted my life here."

"No, sir."

Drew got up and turned away, disgust clear in his tone. "Then I hear about the Federal government sending out someone to covertly murder and control people. It makes me worry. Williamson is a menace," he conceded," Men like him are like a plague on our county, but isn't the government a worse menace, with all their intentions?"

John agreed. Men like Edgar Ross ruined lives without care. "You may be right, sir."

Drew sat down, his vehemence placated by John's words. "You're a brave man, I'll give you that. And you'll always be welcomed here. You tell those men out East that we have no interest in living that way here. All the sneaking around and secrets are preposterous."

"I agree with you sir," John commented, appreciating Drew's forthright nature, if a little rankled by his veiled accusations.

"Well…good. I won't insult you any further." Drew got once more to his feet. "Come on Bonnie, we've got things to do."

Bonnie nodded, watching John with concern. Had her father offended him? It surely wasn't something he hadn't heard before, or at least been aware of some of the confusion surrounding his purpose here. Her father meant well, a man of principles and strong moral character. But he'd ruffled more than a few feathers with his open distrust of the government. Perhaps John hated the government as well as Drew, but then he'd never stated an opinion before either way, except hinting at a dislike of the men who'd commandeered his help. She didn't want him to think ill of either her father or her. Her father had given John his stamp of approval, even if he'd insulted John to some degree in the process.

"Would you like to join us, Mr. Marston?" she offered with a smile. "It's Daddy's favorite pastime, apart from political discourse that is."

"What is?"

"Breaking in horses," Drew responded. "Come on, I hear you're a pretty good rider, for a city dweller."

Bonnie chuckled, knowing just how well John rode a horse.

John followed Bonnie out, accepting the lasso she offered him with an incline of his head, his thoughts lingering on the brief touch of her hand against his. Bonnie was a woman used to the physical demands of running a ranch, her calloused hands evidence of it. Abigail's hands hadn't been soft by any means, but she'd been unused to hard labour, her hands delicate and the skin easily broken. Perhaps other men preferred that. It was no secret in their family that Abigail had been a prostitute for their gang. John did not condemn her for the way she'd chosen to make her way in life, having little to no other options. She'd been hardened by their previous lives in a way that Bonnie would never know. She'd found sex pleasant with John, but she was too jaded to truly enjoy the experience. It had taken some time before John could bring her out of her mind during the moment, Abigail too used to losing herself in her head so she did not need to focus on the man rutting above her. John loved Abigail but it hadn't been instant. It had happened in a slow slide, moments spent together turning to affection, desire for her turning to an appreciation for her sharp tongue and wearied mind. They were jaded, the two of them and they worked on many levels. Jack had not been planned, but after Abigail got pregnant it seemed a natural progression to marry, though John could never be 100 percent certain that Jack was his from the start.

Now there was little doubt, the boy as headstrong as his old man, their countenances bearing an unmistakeable likeness. John had married Abigail knowing that the child she bore might not be his, but loving her all the same. She'd given up lying on her back for money, and John had worked twice as hard to support both her and Jack. Jack had grown up in that life, always a little sheltered from the more brutal aspects of their lives. But the boy had known how his mother had joined Dutch's gang, and John couldn't shelter Jack from everything. He'd been surprisingly resentful when John and Abigail had decided to get out of the life altogether. Jack had seen Dutch and his men as a sort of surrogate family, and he'd been angry that he'd been saddled with only his father after John's brush with death. John could admit that he'd always been more focused on providing for his son than raising him, and Jack rightly despised him for it. He promised himself that he would fix things when he returned, if he returned.

"John?"

He looked up, shaking his head of his regrets, to see Bonnie watching him with concern. Her father was already on his horse, the distance between them gaining.

"Sorry, Miss MacFarlane. Just caught in my head."

Bonnie smiled ruefully. "There seems to be a lot of that going around." John raised his eyebrow in query but she only shook her head and gestured to his horse. "Shall we?"

XX

Roping horses was surprisingly exhilarating. John would not go so far as to call it fun, as Bonnie claimed, but it challenged him and he enjoyed the entire process of breaking in a horse, from the chase to the dominance and submission. It was an accomplishment borne from his own skill and determination. He did not disagree when Bonnie claimed he'd caught the finest of the stallions, some part of him warming with pride at her praise.

"Why don't you keep him, as a thank you…from all of us?"

John smiled in genuine pleasure, patting the stallion's neck. "Thank you. He's a fine animal."

They stared at each other perhaps a moment too long, Amos' loud cough breaking their gaze. Bonnie watched as John ducked his head, distracting himself with finding more comfortable seating on the stallion's back.

"Have you thought of a name?" Bonnie inquired, eager to keep him by her for just a little longer.

John smirked. "A name? I've had him barely five minutes."

Bonnie flushed at his teasing tone. "It was a silly thought. I better be heading back to the ranch, Mr. Marston."

She flicked her reins, John's voice halting her departure. "It's a fine idea, Bonnie. You'll be the first to know when I do name him."

"I look forward to hearing it." Bonnie ignored the glare Amos was aiming at the both of them, riding towards the ranch with what was surely a dimwitted smile on her face_. He'd called her Bonnie._

**As the story progresses, I find John and Bonnie may be getting a little OOC. Hopefully that doesn't bother anyone. I think I did mention that it might get fluffy in later chapters? Thanks for reading!**

**P.S. Does anyone have any suggestions for the name of John's horse? That last part was added last minute because I had no idea how to end this chapter...now I'm stuck with coming up with a name :P**


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